Page 139 of The Champion

“Child,” the queen said gruffly. “Have you had an accident?”

“Aye, Majesty,” she breathed under her breath. “I have been trampled and crushed. I fear I shall never be the same.”

The queen patted her hand. “You have already missed the first three troubadours.”

“Were they any good?”

“Nay. Count your blessings.”

But not even Eleanor’s humor could cheer her. “How many are entered?”

“Only a dozen.”

Rowena took a deep breath and waited as the next male began his song. And as she listened, she began to agree with Stryder. Love songs did in fact reek like rubbish. They weren’t speaking of real love, only of odes to women’s throats and dried up thighs.

She no longer wished a pox on knights. She wished one on all these horrible men who sang to her of made-up emotions of unrequited love.

And as each one sang, she had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting, “What do you know of it? If your heart were really broken you couldn’t breathe, let alone sing.”

Yet, they droned on and on, while every set of eyes in the hall was trained on her.

“Take heart, child,” Eleanor said. “There is only one more to be heard and then you can return to your chambers.”

Or could she? After this, she would have to meet with Damien to discuss the planning of her wedding.

Mayhap this last milksop wouldn’t be so horrendous after all compared to the horror that was waiting for her.

Staring at the floor, she didn’t even look up as the final contestant entered.

Not until she heard a deep, rich baritone that filled the hall with the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

Her heart pounding, she looked up to see Stryder holding his mother’s lute.

Only it wasn’t a love song he sang.

More like a limerick, it was a song about a woman who fancied herself a goose.

And a man who gobbled her up.

Laughter and applause rang out as soon as he strummed the last note.

Breathe, breathe.

It was the only thing Rowena could think. And even that couldn’t get her to take a breath as Stryder approached her.

He smoothed her hair and straightened her feathered crown. “Methinks my gander has molted.

Rowena laughed as more tears streaked down her face.

“Well,” Henry said. “We never thought We would see such a day as this. Our head champion reduced to a mere troubadour.”

Rowena laughed giddily. “Aye, but he is incomparable as both.”

Henry snorted at that. “Eleanor?”

“I judge Lord Stryder the best. What say the rest of you?”

A cheer went up among the women, and a few boos and hisses from the men.